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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/28744767">After The Blitz</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pacifia/pseuds/Pacifia1'>Pacifia1 (Pacifia)</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Chronicles of Narnia - C. S. Lewis</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Gen, Politics, Post-Narnia, The Blitz, World War II</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-01-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-01-14</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 07:21:18</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>4,932</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/28744767</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pacifia/pseuds/Pacifia1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>Peter has a discussion about the war, politics and power with the King of England.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Edmund Pevensie &amp; Lucy Pevensie &amp; Peter Pevensie &amp; Susan Pevensie</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>57</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>After The Blitz</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Disclaimer: It has been long since established that I do not have the ownership of 'The Chronicles of Narnia' series. However, this story features Britain's former king, George VI, otherwise known as Albert. He, here, is fictionalised, though none of the information is historically wrong. But I have never have the pleasure of meeting him and the internet can be only that much accurate. So, I am not saying that he was exactly as I show him here, or any drastically different. This piece is not made to offend anyone and was written with all the reverence to the royal family of Britain.</p><p>And also, I must mention that this is primarily book-verse (with some subtle adaptations from the first movie), and that means that Peter is not a batty and arrogant brat. He has peacefully come to terms with the reality and coming home was even a pleasant surprise for the kids.</p><p>And this was beta'd by <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/BellatrixTheStar"><strong>BellatrixTheStar</strong></a> who gave me some excellent pointers and improved this considerably. And because she was able to finish with this so soon, I got a chance to post one last time before March.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>.</p><p>
  <em>22nd June 1941</em>
</p><p>.</p><p>Peter turned another page of his book, skimming through the words anxiously; he was preparing for a test. He flipped another page with a loud flapping sound and the doorknob suddenly turned. Peter didn't look up from his book as the door opened and a foot started tapping impatiently on the tiled floor.</p><p>"Peter."</p><p>"Yeah?" Peter said, scratching the crown of his head, turning over to the next page of his mathematics textbook, attempting to solve a question based on geometry.</p><p>"We're leaving," said his brother's voice.</p><p>"Go then," Peter said hastily, desperate that his brother cease to disturb his studying.</p><p>"If there is a bombing…"</p><p>"I know," Peter said.</p><p>"…your test will be cancelled."</p><p>Peter turned to see that mischievous smile of his brother. "Why, thank you for the enthusiasm, Ed!"</p><p>Edmund waved a hand in the air. "It's nothing."</p><p>Peter rolled his eyes and watched his brother disappear from the doorway. Then, leaning a little towards the door, he listened eagerly for the voices of his sisters and mother scolding Edmund for disturbing him again. Edmund apologized and the click-clack sounds of the girls' boots slowly fainted to a thin whisper. And then followed Edmund and their mother. The door closed, and Mother's shout came, "Don't forget to lock it, dear!"</p><p>Peter sighed, feeling defeated and dreary all of a sudden. He left his pen to mark the page and sum he was solving, placing it gently on the book, parallel to the desk's lower edge.</p><p>Then he stood up and left his (and Edmund's) room to lock the front door.</p><p>Peter pushed open the door. Dusk had spread and the night sky was hidden beyond the smoke still hovering in the air after the bombings.</p><p>Their garden was small. Though it was green and lush and had more trees than most. Peter adored the tallest oak. They had tried to build a small playhouse on its thickest branch but it ended up being only a small wooden perch for birds. The vines had grown and crept up its trunk, and its beauty reminded him strongly of Narnia and the smell of her air. Peter breathed in deeply (endeavouring to not grimace as the bitter smell of smoke filled his nose) and reminisced.</p><p>He looked ahead. The walls were low enough for him to view the street from the porch.</p><p>The street gleamed as the light from the streetlights hit it (luminous over the moonlight due to the smoke). The houses across the street were larger and more luxurious. The one just opposite to theirs was home to the most hypocritical people Peter knew. Even worse than the Scrubbs. The Adams despised the normalcy of life and were always bringing richer and popular relatives and friends to their home, or showing off with their new cars, or showing off with their new jewels and clothes. Jerry Adams was the apple of his father's eye and always pampered and, frankly, spoiled. And he was waving at Peter through the window. Peter, for the sake of politeness only, waved back. Then he promptly closed (and locked) the door and headed back to his room, after making some tea, of course. Sitting at his desk, he began studying again.</p><p>No more than five minutes could have passed when the quiet <em>knock</em>, <em>knock </em>came. Peter sighed and marked the paragraph below the previous one before standing up again.</p><p>Glancing once outside, he realized it had begun raining (off-season rains had been common after the blitz (1), Lucy called it nature's way to heal herself). In the living room, he let the cup he had been holding rest on the table, and looked out of the window adjacent to the door once. Two men in red and black suits were waiting in front of the door. The car that had been parked in the street was a Rolls Royce Twenty (2). Peter blinked at it once and then let the flaps fall over the window once more. He brushed off his shoulders and pulled down his shirt and combed his hair with his fingers. Then he opened the door.</p><p>The men burst in, shoving Peter aside. He watched in bemusement as they searched every corner of the living room. One went further in before Peter could protest. The other picked the cup Peter had left, examined it, and then gently dropped it into the kitchen sink. He straightened the carpet with his foot, pushed the sofa cushions into place, and turned to Peter. He bowed. Peter, awkwardly, bowed back, unused to the custom here in England.</p><p>The other man then came back and said, "No one else is here." He turned to Peter. "What is your name, sir?"</p><p>"Peter," he replied. "Peter Pevensie."</p><p>"Would you accept guests in your home?"</p><p>"Uh…well…" Peter thought about reminding them they were already inside but couldn't seem to bring himself to insult the men.</p><p>"We're afraid of an unconfirmed danger. And we need your house as a hiding place for a few hours," the other man said, making Peter turn to him. "You will be greatly rewarded, sir, for your service to the crown."</p><p>"What?" Peter asked, blinking twice.</p><p>But then footsteps came. As a third man with a bearskin hat entered, his bold voice announced, "His Majesty, the King George VI steps into your humble home and accepts your service, young sir."</p><p>Peter thought about reminding them he hadn't really offered his service but he supposed it was too late for that already. He had thought it a joke until the king really stepped in, and Peter watched with wide eyes. He had certainly not expected this meeting with the King of England. The king bowed. And Peter, utterly embarrassed, bowed back.</p><p>"In, Your Majesty, come in," said the announcer as he ushered the king towards the sofas. The other two closed the door and stood in attention in front of it.</p><p>Peter scrutinised the king. Though he had seen him in his royal clothing on the telly several times, he had not expected him to look every bit of the king in a casual shirt as well. He had a long face and large ears and was older than Peter's father (3). But he was handsome. The king sat on the sofa and looked at Peter.</p><p>Peter straightened. "Your Majesty," he said.</p><p>"Peter, is it?" Peter nodded. "If I had a son, I would have named him Peter," the king said with a smile. "Come and sit."</p><p>Peter did, and the guards grew more alert, and the announcer said, "Some tea perhaps, Your Majesty?"</p><p>"If you will be so kind, Robert," the king said.</p><p>Robert hurried to the kitchen; it was small, connected to and visible from the living room. The room was small and nothing as lavish as he was used to as king. The sofas were low and stiff. For it was summer, the fireplace had been covered by a thick sheet on Susan's suggestion. The ancient-looking table in the middle of the room was also low but finely carved. The wood was decent and the legs strong enough to support it for a year or more. But the carpet was smoother than most and the untidy and cheap rugs placed at the feet of every chair gave a warmer feeling to his home. The narrow corridor that led to his (and Edmund's) room, and Susan and Lucy's room, was adjacent to the kitchen that was connected with the living room. Peter looked at the king. "I'm sorry about the—the shabbiness, Your Majesty."</p><p>The king waved a hand. "Anyone hardly expects a king to visit their home, Peter. How old are you?"</p><p>Peter waited a second before answering, subtracting the years in Narnia from his real age. "Fourteen, Your Majesty."</p><p>The king gave him a suspicious look.</p><p>Peter conceded. "Almost fourteen, Your Majesty."</p><p>"You're alone?"</p><p>"My brother and sisters are out with my mother, Your Majesty. They were invited to a small house-party."</p><p>When Robert suddenly appeared with a cup of tea and a saucer Peter was sure they didn't own, the king thanked him, and turned back to Peter. "You did not go with them?"</p><p>"A—a test, you see, Your Majesty."</p><p>The king put down the saucer and the cup. "Oh, am I interrupting your studies then? Robert, surely we can—"</p><p>"No, Your Majesty, it's alright," Peter said hastily, glancing at Robert and the guards once. "I'm well prepared."</p><p>"Well, if that is the case, why didn't you go with them then?" Peter blushed, looking down. The king laughed. "No matter. I understand." He sipped his tea. "Well, you could go back to your studying if you like then, Peter."</p><p>"No, Your Majesty," said Peter. "I can take the test another time, but it is my first time meeting the King of England."</p><p>"Very well then," said the king, sipping more of his tea. "Tell me about yourself, Peter."</p><p>"I'm Peter Pevensie, Your Maje—"</p><p>"Albert will do just fine, Peter, son." Peter blinked. "Or Bertie if you'd like. My friends tease me with that nickname."</p><p>Peter smiled, remembering how he blushed and burned when people insisted on calling him 'His Majesty'. With some hesitation, he said, "I really couldn't, Your Majesty. Perhaps 'sir' will serve just as well?"</p><p>"Very well," the king said. "Tell me then," he prompted.</p><p>"I am Peter, sir. Peter Pevensie. I've two dear sisters, Susan and Lucy—and how they would love to meet you—and a brother, Edmund. And…"</p><p>Peter paused. If the king had asked him about his siblings, Peter could go on for an hour. His whole life was centred around them. And around Narnia. How was he to talk about himself without talking about Narnia? The king sipped his tea and raised his eyebrows when the long pause did not end. Peter cleared his throat. "I'm the eldest," he added awkwardly. He took a deep breath, "I—well, uh, I hope to graduate in two years and then pursue medicine, sir. Perhaps be of Your Majesty's service."</p><p>The king smiled. "In two years?" the king asked. "Aren't you a little young?"</p><p>Peter smiled. He couldn't count how many times he'd been asked that very same question. Albeit, in different circumstances. "The school has promoted me two forms ahead, sir." The king gave him an impressed look. Peter blushed again. "It caused a feud between two of the teachers, however."</p><p>The king laughed and put down his cup and saucer. Then suddenly turning serious, he asked, "Tell me, Peter, what do you think of the war?"</p><p>Peter swallowed hard. "The war, sir?"</p><p>"Indeed."</p><p>"Well, it's, of course, devastating, sir. I've seen families torn apart, children separated from their parents. The bombings destroyed my friend's house. My own father is fighting in the war—at this very moment. In Egypt."</p><p>The king gave a grim smile. "I'm sorry, son. I know the loss of a father."</p><p>Peter tried to be polite. "But he's not dead."</p><p>"I know," the king said, "but better prepare for the worst."</p><p>Peter looked up at Robert and the bearskin hat he was wearing, the silk coat around him, the numerous rings wrapped around the king's fingers. He wiped his eyes and tried to conceal the emotion in his voice. "Perhaps if the taxes we pay weren't spent on ensuring luxuries to the royal family."</p><p>Peter knew it wasn't fair. He had <em>been </em>royalty. Been a king. He knew the feeling, remembered the times he had revelled in the luxurious life. But it wasn't at the expense of their subjects. And wars weren't fought with the wait for the soldiers' bodies to come home. This king didn't seem to understand that. When the king spoke again, his voice was gentle, "This ring" – he took off the ring and put it on the table – "can you guess how much it costs?"</p><p>Peter gulped. "I—I don't know, Your Majesty."</p><p>"Five Pounds."</p><p>Peter's eyes twitched with tears and shame. "Sir—I didn't—"</p><p>The king waved a hand. "It is of no matter, Peter. I understand the people's frustration. Their doubts. I know. When they see the Rolls Royce drive through the streets of their homes, do you think they cheer? Do their hearts cheer? It is a hard time, son," – he wore the ring again – "hopes better not get high."</p><p>"That's where you're wrong."</p><p>"Pardon me?"</p><p>"You let your people go to war thinking, <em>knowing </em>they won't come back home alive? You pick out civilians from their homes and expect them to thwart the enemy but won't trust them? You expect your people to love you when you're sipping tea in your <em>palace </em>while their fathers and brothers are dying for <em>your </em>country?"</p><p>Peter took a deep inhale after that breathless retort. The king looked astonished. And offended. The guards had stepped closer and Robert gave him a glare.</p><p>"Son," the king said ever-gently, "what do <em>you </em>know about wars?"</p><p>Peter almost laughed. "I know enough to know that a king doesn't hide in his home when his country is fighting a losing battle."</p><p>"You say I should fight in the war?"</p><p>"Yes."</p><p>"And if," said Robert, "the king dies?"</p><p>"Then he will not die in vain," Peter said.</p><p>The king smiled. "Peter, how old is your brother?"</p><p>Peter stiffened. "That doesn't concern you, Your Majesty."</p><p>Robert glared at him again. The king said, "It's only a simple question. How old is he?"</p><p>"Ten," Peter relented.</p><p>"And would you entrust him to take the exam you are preparing for?" the king asked. Peter blinked. What sort of a question was that?</p><p>"Of course not, sir. We're almost four years apart in age. He hasn't studied this content. It would be—"</p><p>"—too sudden for him?"</p><p>"Y—yes."</p><p>"Then you would understand why it would be unfair to force a warring country upon my own brother? That it would be unfair to the people to give them an inexperienced king?"</p><p>"You do not trust your brother, sir?"</p><p>"Not enough."</p><p>Peter shook his head, disappointed. He sighed and said, "I'm sorry, Your Majesty. Perhaps these things should be left undiscussed."</p><p>"Perhaps," the king agreed, glancing once at Robert. Robert picked the cup and went to the kitchen. Peter heard the faucet turn on. The king settled back on the sofa, attempting to relax. "You must have come back from the country only last month," he said. Peter nodded. "Where were you sent?"</p><p>Peter smiled. <em>My home. </em>"Coombe Halt (4), Your Majesty."</p><p>"And your siblings?"</p><p>Peter's brows went up. "With me, sir, of course."</p><p>"There is no 'of course' about it, Peter. You were lucky if that was the case," said the king.</p><p>Peter didn't reply. And that was the beginning of the very awkward silence. Robert had come back and he and the guards hadn't moved an inch. The king, however, was fidgeting every other second. While Peter sat straight, hardly moving at all. It was easy when he had practice sitting through twelve hours of councils and foreign meetings. Through the most boring of galas and parties.</p><p>And when the doorbell suddenly rang <em>twice</em>, Peter was the first one of his feet, while the others had still to process it and react. The king looked up at him with a look he could not discern, and then was immediately surrounded by his guards and Robert in the next second. Peter put a finger to his lips and went to open the door. He ruffled a hand through his hair, shaking his head to dishevel it further, and tried to look tired. Then he creaked open the door, knowing who it was.</p><p>He opened it only enough so that the guest was allowed a mere peek inside the house, carefully hiding the king and his men from view. "Jerry," Peter said sullenly. "What do you want?"</p><p>Jerry looked <em>very </em>uncertain. He licked his lips, glanced back once, his gaze lingering on the car, turned back, and said, "The—the Rolls Royce—it's—"</p><p>"We just bought it," Peter said.</p><p>Jerry blinked. Then his eyes narrowed. And he gave a lopsided smile. "No, you didn't."</p><p>"You're right, we didn't. Now, leave." Peter pushed the door close.</p><p>But Jerry held it open. "Peter, you don't know any rich people. If there is" – he lowered his voice to a whisper – "a problem, you can, you know, signal me." He made a cross with his index fingers. Peter just looked at him in silent aversion and slight disgust, "You know, we could, <em>you</em> <em>know</em>."</p><p>Peter shook his head, rolled his eyes, sighed, and shut the door in Jerry's face, locking it subsequently.</p><p>He turned. "Sorry about that."</p><p>The king looked at Robert and then back at Peter. "You handled that well."</p><p>"I've—I've a bit of experience in dealing with annoying neighbours," Peter said with a smile. He sat on the sofa again.</p><p>"And you—you heard that doorbell ring before any of us," the king said.</p><p>"I've a bit of experience in that too," Peter replied.</p><p>"No, you were on your feet as soon as—"</p><p>"Instinct, Your Majesty," Peter explained. "It was instinct."</p><p>The king settled back. "Right," he said, looking reluctant. "Tell me more about your family, why don't you? My guards have probably given the area a thorough search. But we still have some time before my escort arrives."</p><p>Peter wanted to ask him how many more guards he had but he sighed heavily and said, "Well, my father used to work in the Telephone Company before the war." He turned grim, recalling the previous lushness of his old home, when they hadn't been poor. The king noticed this and gave him a sympathetic look. "My mother teaches History in the local school."</p><p>The king smiled at this. "I had a flair for History in my school days. I studied it in college, too."</p><p>"Of course, sir," Peter said. "Did you—did you learn how to be a king too?"</p><p>The king laughed. "I don't think there is a school for that, Peter."</p><p>"Really?" Peter asked, genuinely disappointed because his tutors in Narnia had certainly taught him, and made him the king he was, or had been. He already felt far too childish and unkingly. He could feel it all fade away as Narnia grew fainter and fainter, the hues of memories ebbing. He knew what it meant to be king. But he couldn't remember what it felt like. And it <em>hurt</em>. "There should be," Peter added shortly.</p><p>"A school to forge kings?" the king asked, laughing. "What would they teach other than proper etiquette and mannerisms?"</p><p>"Perhaps some fighting techniques?" Peter proposed, glancing at the two guards and Robert. "His Majesty could avoid any danger by himself then."</p><p>The king smiled again. "Could I?"</p><p>"Oh, most definitely," Peter said, smiling reminiscently.</p><p>And once more, with a sharper ring, echoed the doorbell.</p><p>Peter shook his head as he rose. He was ready to rebuff Jerry with much less sincerity this time but there was no nervous tapping of feet on the porch this time. And the bell had rung only once.</p><p>Swallowing, he opened the door to allow the intruder a peek at the brown walls. A shadow hovered and then a foot appeared.</p><p>He heard the guns' safety being clicked off, and burst open the door, causing the intruder to stumble in helplessly. The guards had to yet react when Peter, with two swift strides, and was upon the intruder. Then, he closed his eyes, feeling Narnia come closer inch by inch. The battle sounds were beating in the distance. The clash of Rhindon with far weaker swords ringing in his ears. The smell of war and the sound of death. The perfect movements and arcs. The agility and speed and strength. No room for errors. No room for undeserved mercy. Knight and noble.</p><p>The sound of guns' clicking woke him.</p><p>Peter pulled his hands back instantly when he saw that a golden head was pressed against the wall and wrists were twisted in Peter's hands. Peter blinked and stepped back, looking around blearily, and realising with a jerk that Robert, in the frenzy, had lost his hat, revealing his bare head that wore no hair. And that the man he had just fought had also been wearing a bearskin hat before Peter attacked him.</p><p>Presently, the man he had mistaken for an intruder was rubbing his wrists with a hard look on his face and the guards had lowered their guns at the king's command. The guard wore his hat again and whispered something in the king's ear before retreating back to the door, closing it promptly. Peter bowed his head and apologised profusely. He turned to the king.</p><p>"I didn't mean…I really didn't…"</p><p>The king's mouth was agape. Gaining some composure, he said, "That was quite…unbelievable."</p><p>Peter didn't even know what he had done. His eyes were closed. "Your Majesty, please, I didn't know he was one of your guards…" he said desperately. "You can…you can punish me for disgracing His Majesty's royal Guard, but please, my family is—"</p><p>"Peter," said the king, "sit down."</p><p>Peter took a seat, his head down. "Your Majesty, I am—"</p><p>"Where did you learn that?"</p><p>"What?" Peter asked, looking up.</p><p>"Where did you learn to do that?"</p><p>Peter gulped. "The country, sir. Our hosts were…skilled."</p><p>"I see," said the king. "Perhaps you would—when you're of age, of course—like to serve in the army?"</p><p>Peter shook his head. "You think the war won't end by then?"</p><p>"We look as far as we can," the king replied.</p><p>"No!" Peter exclaimed suddenly, feeling the need to knock some sense into this novice king, "You don't understand, sir. You don't understand at all. When you 'look far', you're anticipating the extension of the war! You can end it. You have the means. You have the men. But you refuse to. Why wait for the enemy to strike first? My father and countless other men are fighting for you, in and under your name. If you don't make the move, the enemy will only grow stronger. And your people, <em>our </em>people will all die. And there will be no one to blame but the king himself."</p><p>The king blinked. "You think—"</p><p>"No, sir, I <em>know</em>. I know that you haven't the foggiest idea about all the death and blood your men are facing. You don't <em>understand</em> the <em>pain</em>, the dread, the <em>death</em>, because you're too busy hiding from 'unconfirmed' dangers rather than facing them. Because <em>you </em>are not a soldier." The guards were pointing their guns at him again, fully loaded. But Peter didn't back down. "You can't understand if you haven't seen and felt it yourself."</p><p>The king waved a hand and the guns vanished into the guards' pockets, Robert also put back his pocket knife. "Peter, son," the king said politely, "say I don't understand. Then make me."</p><p>Peter blinked at him and suddenly realised that he was standing, towering above the seated king. He could have been shot. Swallowing against the lump in his throat, he stepped back. He sat on the sofa once more and said much more sincerely, "I'm sorry, Your Majesty. What I mean to say is that a king should be <em>familiar </em>with his people. A king can't <em>just </em>be a king." The king raised an eyebrow. Peter sighed. "Say I was a king," he said, and it hurt, "the King of England," he amended, "at this time of war, I would not only council with my ministers and confer with the parliament, but I would want to <em>see</em>. See my people. Because a king has to be…an advocate to his people, sir. Don't you agree? You've heard how many families have lost their homes. You've heard about buildings over buildings <em>toppling</em> to the grounds. You've heard about the poverty. But what have you seen? Your people need to know you care, sir. And frankly—I'm sorry—but they don't. (5)"</p><p>"What do you suggest I do?"</p><p>"Go to your people, sir. Visit the families of your soldiers if you can't be at the field of battle itself. Visit the bombing sites, where houses and offices still lay as mere pieces of debris. The workers that are <em>toiling </em>and labouring to supply for the war. Show your people you care and your enemies that you're standing strong and <em>will </em>fight back."</p><p>The king gave a watery laugh. He leant forward. "I took the throne, Peter, because my brother abdicated it." Peter swallowed. "I'm not elected. I've been chosen merely because I was born as a prince. Because I was son to the queen. I didn't expect to be king. I was taught how to be a prince. How to be poised. How to hide my stammer." Peter winced inwardly, knowing full well what such a weakness meant for a king. "I learnt how to be a good man. And a good soldier." Peter blinked and Robert (who was wearing his hat again) smiled. The king laughed again. "I fought in the navy and I was a pilot in the RAF. I've fought wars, son. And I have felt <em>it</em>. And known it." Peter swallowed hard and refused to meet the king's eyes in his mortification and shame. The king laughed, however. "But you, Peter, are the first one to try and teach me how to be king."</p><p>Peter would have replied but the door opened briskly (despite it being locked), the chilly wind carrying the moisture from the rain rushing in. "Your Majesty," said the silhouette in the doorway, "your escort is here. We can go."</p><p>"Just a minute, Fergus. Start the engine of the car."</p><p>Fergus bowed. "Your Majesty." With that, he was gone.</p><p>Peter turned to the king again.</p><p>"You say I can end the war. But it's really not in my power. I cannot go against the parliament alone. I and this whole country are bound by rules. I am only a state figure up for display. My powers are limited. And besides" —he rose from the sofa— "I really don't think we want to give Germany the advantage of a short war."</p><p>Peter blinked. The politics of this war were as confusing as the math sums he was being made to solve. Mentally, he decided he would ask Edmund what the king might have meant.</p><p>"You see, don't you?" the king asked.</p><p>Peter, hesitantly, nodded.</p><p>"I love my people, Peter. But I suppose I've been inert in showing it." He laughed. "You are far too wise for your age. If I were to come to you for counsel again, you wouldn't mind it?"</p><p>"Your Majesty," Peter said, blushing hotly, "I could hardly refuse."</p><p>"Thank you," the king said politely. "I have other concerns I'd like to discuss with you sometime." Peter nodded. "Now, as a gift, what would you like?"</p><p>"Sir—"</p><p>"Oh, don't be shy now."</p><p>"Your Majesty, really, I couldn't—"</p><p>"What is your father's name?" the king asked abruptly.</p><p>Peter blinked twice before saying, "Ethan, Your Majesty. Ethan George Pevensie."</p><p>The king smiled. "He will return to you and your family, I promise. (6)"</p><p>Peter's eyes were already wet, brimming with tears. He sobbed gratefully. "Tha—thank you," he croaked.</p><p>"But can you promise me something too?"</p><p>"Your Majesty?"</p><p>"Pass your test."</p>
<hr/><p>An hour had passed since the king left, very discreetly. And Peter, determined to keep his promise, was studying through the night.</p><p>The temperature had dropped suddenly after the rain, and Peter had wrapped himself in a thin blanket, sprawled over the bed in his (and Edmund's) room, reading intently. But he heard the door burst open. He had only gotten up, ready to hear his mother's scolding for staying up so late, when three suddenly relieved faces came into view, and he was mercilessly crushed into hugs, surrounded by whispered prayers of thanks.</p><p>"Mum?" he said, she was crying the hardest. But Mother didn't reply. "Susan? Lu? Will somebody explain—"</p><p>"They thought you were dead."</p><p>Peter frowned, pulling away. He kissed his sisters' foreheads and his mother's cheeks. "But why?" he asked his brother who was standing with his arms crossed in the doorway.</p><p>"Jerry said 'men of <em>questionable</em> intentions' had invaded our home and you were too scared to even '<em>signal'</em> for help. And then he saw the men leave but never saw you. It was 'a <em>natural</em> assumption', you see."</p><p>Peter laughed but found himself in the arms of his mother again, "Oh, dear God, I was so afraid for you."</p><p>"Mum," Peter said with a smile and Mother sniffed. "I'm fine. I had a delightful time," he said, pulling back.</p><p>Mother wiped her eyes and beckoned her children to come close. Susan and Lucy whispered further explanations to him as they were pulled into a group hug. His sisters giggled when he ruffled a hand through both their hair. Edmund, on the other hand, scowled and slapped his hand away.</p><p>When everyone was calm again, Mother asked, "Who were the guests, Peter? Jerry said they came in Ro…oh, you know, the expensive car."</p><p>"Yeah," said Edmund with a look that made their sisters giggle, "with whom did you have a 'delightful' time, Peter? A princess, I guess by the way you're blushing."</p><p>Peter smiled. "Oh, no one of importance really."</p><p>"Peter," said Susan and Lucy simultaneously, "who <em>was</em> it?"</p><p>Chuckling, Peter said the four words that caused his family to erupt into an hour-long hysteria of unending questions, praises, and scoldings:</p><p>"The King of England."</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>
  <em>(1) - Pollution can both increase and reduce rainfall.</em>
</p><p> </p><p>  <em>(2) - The Rolls-Royce Twenty built between 1922 and 1929 was Rolls-Royce's "small car" for the 1920s and was produced alongside the 40/50 Silver Ghost.</em></p><p> </p><p>  <em>(3) - Description is adopted from the photos of King George VI as king.</em></p><p> </p><p>  <em>(4) - In the movie, the signboard at the station reads the same.</em></p><p> </p><p>  <em>(5) - Now, the king and his wife gave his country and others tours during the war. Since this is still early into the war, Peter's conversation has an effect on him, and is what makes him visit his people, go to the bombing sites, the military camps. This is only fiction, however, molded with my imagination.</em></p><p> </p><p>  <em>(6) - I've always felt Mr. Pevensie was very lucky surviving the war, considering almost 400,000 soldiers died in combat. So, I made a small addition to canon.</em></p><p> </p><p>  <strong>Please contact me if you've spotted any mistakes in grammar, punctuation, or a historical inaccuracy.</strong></p></blockquote></div></div>
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